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Published: November 20th 2005
Though they had been the cause of my 2.5 week delay, the airmiles turned out to be well spent. The flight from London to New Delhi was a good 8 hours in duration, and was completely full, so the extra legroom in Premium Economy was much appreciated. Special thanks to my previous employer for providing the airmiles. Virgin showed a commendable grasp of Anglo-Indian cuisine by offering roast chicken or chicken tikka masala as the in-flight meal, though the chap across the aisle from me had gone to the next level by simply ordering 2 Cobras.
The arrival at Indira Gandhi airport was something of a disappointment. After expecting a crush of touts, it turned out to be quiet and empty. Customs and baggage reclaim were negotiated with a minimum of fuss - my rucksack was even waiting for me on the carousel - and I located my driver immediately. Early signs are that currency could be a problem. Two hundred dollars equates to over 80 Rs 100 notes - this denomination is too big for simple purchases such as a cup of tea, yet a wad of 80 of them creates an unsightly bulge in all but the largest
of moneybelts.
The journey to the hotel, in an underpowered little white car, allowed me the time to form a few impressions. The city is a sprawl, with building sites dotted all over the place. It's dusty and polluted. It's low to the ground and there seems to be little method to the urban planning. The traffic obeys a vanishingly small set of rules.
Ignoring road markings is one thing, you see overtaking on either side in other parts of the world, and you can find traffic jams globally. Throw in constant horn parping, a refusal to give way until an accident is millimetres away, signalling to turn right from the leftmost lane of the motorway and through sheer willpower actually pulling off that manoeuvre, and you have something approaching the Delhi traffic. What crowned it for me was the constant chit-chat, and eye contact in the rear view mirror, that the driver engaged me in, even while all the above was occurring in front of him, with buses, taxis, auto-rickshaws, rickshaws, bicycles, handcarts, and even cows swerving in and out from the unlikeliest of directions. It seems to work though, as I didn't see a single accident.
The area I'm staying in is called Paharganj, and is the main backpacker district of the city. It's cut through by a street called Main Bazar, off which small alleyways snake. There are literally hundreds of shops here, their small frontages all crammed together, the displays spilling over into neighbouring patches, selling any item you could imagine. Mobile food stalls take up further space in the streets, and electricity and phone wires dangle precariously overhead. Constant "Hellos!" ring out from all sides, with the more aggressive salesmen pursuing you down the street if they think your resolve is weakening.
There was no available parking near my hotel, so my driver was forced to abandon his car several hundred metres away and we trudged the remainilg distance. He insisted on carrying my rucksack which, given he was not the tallest of gentlemen, looked like quite a struggle, and I would have felt a pang of guilt if I hadn't had my own problems. At street level, there is no square inch that is considered unmotorable, so I was fully occupied in trying to avoid all types of vehicles, not to mention dogs and beggars, in addition to keeping my
feet out of potholes, liquid of indeterminate origin, and steaming heapas from cows ambling along.
I'm not sure if a special limbless reception committee had been laid on just for me, or maybe these things stand out more when you're in an unfamiliar place and are paying more attention to your surroundings, but the average number of arms and legs of Paharganj residents was below expectations, both for dogs as well as humans. I hope it's nothing in the water.
The hotel itself is situated down a small, crooked street that I would have had severe difficulty finding on my own - not only is the street signless, and you can't even see the hotel nameboard until you're about halfway along it, but there's a reeking public lavatory at the entrance which would have dissuaded me from even searching down there. It's surrounded by lots of Internet/telephone stores, which bodes well. The room has all the amenities that you would expect for $10 per night. Plus an Asian loo, which I already know I'll be having some fun with. For the sake of my sanity, I decided not to inspect the mattress until I'd taken my contact lenses out.
Though I'd barely slept on the flight, I was keen to orient myself in the neighbourhood, not to mention get some food, so I headed back out into the melee. Westerners stand out a mile here, which reminded me a lot of Tokyo. And little old fresh-off-the-plane Johnny stood out more than most, as I was displaying all the signs of a clueless tourist. It's a tough decision whether to simply ignore beggars or to shake your head at them when they ask for money, and I was so pleased to successfully get away from my first scrum of them, that I unwittingly walked straight into my first tout encounter.
It was a textbook introduction, with him claiming to be a student at one of the local universities, who wanted to practise his English. He was very friendly, even showed me a place where I could get some food, and we chatted about our families and backgrounds. It didn't seem too suspicious that we then ended up in a tourist office, where I asked about how best to get round Rajasthan, however the response I got (via car tour), and the pushy nature of the salesman, should perhaps have rung some bells. We then popped into a craft shop, where again the salesmen were very pushy. After I'd looked but not bought, my newfound friend claimed he had to go, and disappeared off.
Within minutes of me being on my own again, another guy appeared and gave me exactly the same story. Still all very friendly and non-pushy. We went for chai (which is not the thing to drink if your tastebuds prefer Diet Coke over Coke) and chatted about India. Then I somehow found myself in another craft shop, with again some fairly hard selling being involved. Friend number 2 then said he would take me on a tour of some sights tomorrow, which sounded harmless so I agreed.
Interestingly, the conversations with both these gentlemen ended up on the subject of call-girls in England, a topic I had to confess minimal knowledge of. I guess I just have that kind of face.
One positive about meeting this second guy was that I had my first ride in an autorickshaw. They're very similar to the tuk-tuks that you see in Bangkok - small three-wheelers powered by a motorbike engine (?), that are the perfect combination of small size and speed for getting around the city. With the horn seemingly on the whole time, the fumes from all the other road users coating your lungs, and the ground not many inches away, it's an exciting ride. One downside is that you are easy prey for beggars at traffic lights, as you can't escape their attention and have to simply ignore them.
After I'd had dinner at one of the Rough Guide-recommended cafes, I came over all weary, and wrapped up the day at about midnight. Note to self - do not buy a Boots toothbrush ever again. This one is already making me spitting bristles.
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Tom Cruise
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Penelosheep on Two Wheel Drive
Jabe - I can see the expression of your face when you were describing your reaction to the beggars and hustlers... One of those talk to the hand face.. I have to agree with the locals about your experience with the English Call Girls... you just have one of those face.